Domestic
by motionless6494
Summary: A few years after the fall, Sherlock finds himself living with Irene Adler. One night can change everything. And it certainly has. Are Sherlock and Irene equipped to handle a situation like this? Will it leave a bad taste in their mouths or open their eyes to new experiences and happiness?
1. Chapter 1

Domestic

Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary man, nor was Irene Adler an ordinary woman. In fact they were the very opposite of ordinary, however their current lifestyle begged to differ. Two years after the great consulting detective came back from his three years of leave from life, he found himself no longer living in 221B with his best friend John Watson, but instead a block away, in a similar flat, shared with Miss Adler.

Sherlock, while away, was not only able to disband Moriarty's network, but also clear Miss Adler's name, as well as keep her under great protection by the British government, in the form of one very reluctant Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock found that living a domestic life was the safest, as well as most boring, choice that he had to make to ensure that Irene would remain out of danger. This meant that the quality of his cases decreased as well. He was no longer running around London at odd hours in the night, chasing awful cab drivers, or pointing guns at certain consulting criminals at poolside. Although this did not stop him from inviting John to go on small, risky, under-the-table type cases with him every now and then, which almost always resulted in at least one person crying about being insulted for being so dense.

Irene, no longer the bold and brilliant dominatrix that she once was, was now a great cook, quite independent after not having an assistant for several years, and was just completing her second year of digital design. "Well I've got to have something to do if I can no longer whip people for a living," she had argued with Sherlock weeks after they had rented their flat together. She found herself rather good at it, though it was completely unlike anything that she'd ever thought she'd be doing. Though that was the point. Although she had come back from the dead and her name had been cleared, she still had to remain under the radar for the most part. "You'll master it in a month and be bored of it in two," she recalled the detectives remarks about her chosen hobby.

"You ass," she chirped as she entered the kitchen.

"What have I done this time?" Sherlock asked as he handed her a cup of coffee and kissed her temple lightly, taking in her scent, the amount of hours she slept, as well as the amount she didn't. She seemed uneasy. Upon further observation he noticed that the skin around her eyes was slightly pink and swollen. She'd been crying sometime during the night, but why?

"You've used up all the hot water again. Not to mention you flushed the toilet and ran the washing machine while I was in the freezing water, making it nearly like the very waters that the Titanic sank in." She thumped his head as she went for the cupboard for a protein bar.

"I hardly think it was that cold... but if you'd like, I could make it up to you by joining you in a hot shower tonight."

"Nice try, Mr. Holmes, but as I'm sure you've already noticed, there are things we need to discuss."

Oh, no. The reason she'd been crying, obviously, but it had to be serious or she wouldn't bring it up at all. "And what is it that we need to discuss, Miss Adler?" Don't turn around. Don't do it.

And with a shaky but guarded voice, her expression remaining indifferent, she replied, "Well, it seems that I'm pregnant." They both flinched at her words and the room was suddenly very dry. She mentally cursed herself the moment those words left her lips.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat before stating,"I-I'm not sure how I should react... or f-feel." Well there it is. This is what you get for being such a randy bastard all the time, he thought to himself.

"I thought so. You shouldn't worry, though, because I'll be scheduling a doctor's appointment this week and an abortion next week."

"Why schedule to see a doctor if you just plan on aborting the pregnancy altogether?"

"Because I would like to know the time of conception, so that I can know whether or not I still have a chance to abort it on time."

"B-but wouldn't you know by counting the days since your last cycle?" he stammered as he watched her sit across from him at the table set for two.

"Sherlock, the birth control that I'm on slows my cycle to a near halt. I haven't had a proper one since January." A few tears marked her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away hoping that Sherlock didn't notice. Of course he did. "Just as I said, though, you mustn't worry. It will be done and over with in the next two or three weeks." And with that she stood from her seat and left the room.

Sherlock sat alone in his kitchen silently staring at that morning's copy of The Sun, for the next few minutes until he heard Irene come out of their bedroom, wearing shoes now. Where was she going?

"I'll be back in a bit. I apologize if the morning didn't start out how you planned. I'll be back with the shopping." And she left.

Sherlock's left eye twitched suddenly. He stood from his seat and dumped the remainder of his coffee into the sink and left the kitchen. Once he locked himself in his bedroom he sat on his bed and thought about the brief but very informing conversation he'd just had. He tried to think back to a night that they'd been intimate without using protection, but truth be told, they'd been careless for the last three months or so. This made his stomach sink and he could feel something coming on. A compulsion. A need. He hadn't done it in almost five years. He'd tried so hard to ignore this feeling. It wasn't necessary and frankly, it was quite frowned upon to see an adult doing it. But he couldn't handle this new and shocking information. Suddenly his right hand found it's way to his mouth, biting the soft white skin of his wrist. He did this for several minutes until he could taste blood. He was quite disappointed in himself, and knew that this was not over.

Sherlock had decided that instead of being destructive, he would turn to his best friend to vent instead. "Irene is pregnant. SH" 1:25 PM

"Seriously?!" 1:26 PM

"Yes. SH" 1:27 PM

"Was not expecting that. Do I say congrats or sorry?" 1:28 PM

"I'm not sure yet. SH" 1:28 PM

"Want me to come over?" 1:30 PM

"Yes. SH" 1:34 PM

"So when did she tell you?" John asked as he sat in the very seat that Irene moved from just that morning.

"Just a few hours ago. You didn't say anything to Mary before you left, did you? I'm sure she didn't even want me to know about this..." Sherlock said as he raked his hands through his hair.

"Not my business to tell. And I'm sure she wanted you to know, otherwise she would not have told you. Maybe this won't be such a bad situation for you both." Oh, John, always looking on the brighter side of things. This is why I've kept you around.

"Unless she just felt obligated to let me know of my failures as a partner."

"No, Sherlock, you can't see this as a failure, no matter how you feel about a potential child. Treat this as a life lesson, not a punishment. And try to put yourself in Irene's shoes; she's just as scared as you, if not more. She probably considered how you might feel about this and felt obligated to choose an abortion over keeping it. Or maybe she truly does not want to keep it. The point is, right now you have to pay extra attention to her. Try to figure out exactly what she wants, and be there for her."

"I'll bet she considered throwing herself down the stairs this morning when she left, just so she wouldn't have to deal..."

"Sherlock, even if she did think about doing it, the point is that she didn't actually do it. That means she's unsure about how you feel about this, and she took whatever your feelings may be into consideration. This is about her and she's thinking of you. Just keep that in mind."

"You're right."

"I know I'm right. I'm a doctor, I'm always right." John smirked.

Sherlock glared at him but his expression faltered. He was feeling and it was very confusing. "John, what if she decides to keep it? What do I do?"

John looked Sherlock straight in the eye and said "You stay right where you are and you support her the entire way, and you come out of this with a happy partner and a beautiful, smart child. You turn away, and you lose her, you lose her respect, and you lose your best mate."

Sherlock swallowed hard. That was it. I can't lose the ones I care about just because I'm scared. "Thank you, John. Really. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Sherlock, you know I'm here for you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to hear it if I'm not back soon. Mary and I have got a date."

Sherlock watched as John stood and said, "Yes, enjoy your date. And please refrain from choosing this conversation as your subject of gossip during dinner. I'd appreciate it greatly."

"I already told you I won't tell her anything."


	2. Chapter 2

Domestic Ch. 2

It was evening when Irene came home. As she entered the kitchen with the groceries, she was pleasantly surprized with the scent of Chicken Parmesan, as well as the sight of Sherlock chopping vegetables with a large knife.

"What's all this?" she asked as she began to put things away. "You hardly ever cook."

"Yes, and I thought I would change that. Besides, something tells me that I owe you dinner." Sherlock set the knife down on the cutting board and stepped in front of Irene, wraping his arms around her and drawing her close. His hands rubbed her back soothingly as he breathed her in. "I hope your day wasn't too tiring."

She lay her head on his chest and could instantly feel his heart rate elevate. She drew in a shaky breath before stating in a half-whisper, "I'm keeping it." She waited for his reaction, whatever it might be, but to her surprise, he gave none. His hands kept their same rhythm, his breath didn't hitch, he simply bent to kiss the top of hers. After a moment of calmness, Irene reminded Sherlock not to let the food burn and he quickly moved to lower the fire on the stove top.

"Would you like me to help you with anything?" Irene asked as she finished putting the last of the groceries away.

"No, but I would like you to sit down because I'm about to serve you." he said as he turned around holding her plate and a glass of orange juice. He set it in front of her and retrieved his own plate and sat across from her. "I do hope you enjoy it, it took me almost twenty minutes to find a proper recipe." He waited for Irene to begin eating, he watched her face carefully and saw a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is it okay?"

"Mr. Holmes, I think I might have to stop cooking for a while to take advantage of your new skill," she stated as she picked up her glass.

"So you like it then?"

"Really, Sherlock, it's wonderful."

Sherlock continued to observe Irene; he always noticed everything about her, from the slight frizz in her hair this evening, most likely from the London weather, to the nail polish that was starting to chip on her right thumb. Currently, he was taking in her expression; it was one of relief and sentiment.

"So if I may ask," Sherlock began as he poked at his food, "what's made you change your mind?"

Irene looked up with a confused expression as if she had been caught off guard. "Hmm? Oh, right... I guess having an abortion just doesn't appeal to me very much. I feel as though I must take responsibilty for my actions... Even if it means putting our... whatever you want to call it, in jeopardy..."

"Well, Miss Adler, you've no reason to worry because I've no reason to leave." He set his fork down and reached across the table to hold Irene's hand. "I truly mean it."

"I apologize for missing your appointment." Sherlock said into his phone as he stepped into a cab. He was just leaving the Yard after several hours of pointing Lestrade and his crew in the right direction while trying desperately not to come off as a condescending twat. "I had to deal with Anderson's nonstop complaining about how his wife hasn't signed their divorce papers yet. Anyways, how was it? Not too tedious, I hope."

Irene chuckled on the other line. "Not tedious at all, just very informing... I'm in my first trimester, about five weeks in, I shouldn't expect to experience any kind of morning sickness for a few more weeks. Oh and I've been put on prenatal vitamins that I've got to take every morning from now until further notice."

"There's something else you're not telling me. Did something happen?"

"Damn you." She said with a smile in her voice. "The technician was trying so desperately to make me feel guilty after I admitted to considering an abortion, and so I told her that she was being very unprofessional, as well as a big cunt. She suggested that I be escorted off the premises."

Sherlock waited for Irene's quiet laughter to subdue, he replied, "That's very unlike you, Miss Adler. I would say I'm shocked, but instead it's rather refreshing."

"Also, apparently being pregnant comes with rapid influxes of various hormones and emotions."

"Is that what they told you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No, they didn't tell me anything like that. It's what I experienced after I got home and spilled water on myself."

Sherlock felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Irene with mood swings? Is that what he was coming home to? A very moody Irene Adler? He couldn't even bear to think about himself as a child, what it must have been like to be one of his parents. But then something clicked in his head. His child is going to be a combination of himself and Irene. A very manic child that will probably grow up with the same diagnosis as Sherlock, and the same crude flirtatiousness as Irene.

Fatherhood was going to be very tough on Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

Domestic Ch. 3

"Sherlock, I can't sleep." Irene whispered as she rolled into Sherlock's direction.

"Yes, pregnancy will do that to you," he said without turning around.

"Sherlock." she said as she nudged him.

"Hmm."

"Sherlock, touch me."

"Irene, you wanted nothing to do with me an hour ago and it is 4:34 in the morning."

"Yes, well I can't sleep."

"So I gathered."

"If you help me, you can tire me out and I'll be able to fall asleep easier."

He wasn't having it. "Irene, go to sleep."

Despite the darkness and the fact that he wouldn't be able to see her, she rolled her eyes. "It's like you're not evening listening."

"I am listening but I wish I weren't."

Suddenly Irene had a bright idea. Or maybe just an idea that would piss him off. She angled herself so that she could touch her icy feet to his back and his entire form went rigid. "Why do you insist on being such a pest when you don't get your way?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Why do you insist on being such a prude when I want to have my way?"

"If we do this, will you let me sleep?"

"Shut up, Mr. Holmes, and get on me." she said as she grabbed a fistful of his curls.

As Sherlock rolled onto her, Irene was so eager to get started that she'd already removed her panties. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sherlock peered into Irene's eyes and they held contact for several minutes. Occasionaly he'd reach down and touch where she was most sensitive and marvel in her reactions. Despite the darkness of the room, Sherlock could see all her features perfectly; her long brown hair strewn across her pillow, the pink flush starting at her cheeks and ending past her collarbones, and the glazed over look in her eyes.

Suddenly her face twisted into one of discomfort. "Am I doing something wrong?" Sherlock asked as he slowed his pace, unsure of the issue. She shook her head and told him to keep going but she still looked troubled. "Irene, what is it?"

"Get off me!" she said in a husky voice as she squirmed underneath him. He quickly did as he was told and she sprang from the bed, pulled her panties back on, fled to the restroom, and began wretching. Sherlock exhaled loudly as he put his boxer briefs back on and followed Irene.

He didn't say anything, he just raked her hair into a very messy bun, put a wet washcloth on the back of her neck, and rubbed her back until she was finished.

In the morning, Sherlock arrived in the bedroom with a tray of water, dry toast, and mixed fresh fruit. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he set it on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

Irene looked up at him to answer but a few tears escaped her eyes. She inhaled a shaky breath and her whole body shuddered.

"Why are you so upset?" he asked, unsure if he should be crossing into uncharted territory.

She didn't answer. She just looked away, embarrassed for crying in front of him for no real reason at all.

"Is this what being twelve weeks pregnant does to you?" he asked as he sat next her on the bed and placed his hand on hers. When she didn't answer he leaned close to her and moved a few strands of hair from her face. "Would you like to go back to sleep? Or maybe take a hot bath?" She nodded and wiped her tears away. "Yes to which one?"

"Both." she spoke in a small voice. "But only if you join me."

"I suppose... I suppose I have a while to spare before I go down to Bart's."

They sat in the bathtub for nearly an hour, sharing a pint of ice cream and discussing details about their relationship that might change once the baby comes.

"We won't be able to have sex for at least six weeks after I give birth. I don't know if I'll be able to manage that."

"Agreed. But you and I both know that it's worth the wait."

"Yes, very much so, actually." Irene chuckled. "Oh and we'll hardly have time to ourselves."

"The noise, Irene, we're forgetting about the noise." Sherlock mentioned with a roll of the eyes.

"I almost forgot. Babies cry."

"And they get older and have terrible attitudes."

"And they spend all your money."

"And become junkies."

"And get arrested." Irene said as she shifted her body in the warm water.

For a moment they just stared at each other until Sherlock said quietly, "Irene, we can't let our child grow up the way we did. My childhood was terrible and I hold a lot of resentment toward my parents. As much of a narcissist as I am, by no means do I want my child to be one."

"I know, Sherlock, but what do we do? Private school?"

"And let him or her be tormented for whatever quirks they might have? That's one of the reasons I turned out the way I am."

"God, I can hardly make it through the day with one narcissist, how will I be able to deal with two of them?"

"Miss Adler, are you implying that you're not-"

"It was a joke, love. Don't be dense. It's unbecoming. What about homeschooling?"

Sherlock seemed to like this. The thought of knowing where his child would be and knowing that they were not in immediate danger in the form of school bullies was rather comforting to him. "Yes. I like that idea much better."

For just a small moment they were both silent and Irene rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder. She seemed very content with where they were in all this. She closed her eyes and drew little wet circles on Sherlock's thigh and then whispered, "We'll be good parents."


	4. Chapter 4

Domestic Ch. 4

A few tiring weeks dragged on and Irene was now in the twentieth week of her pregnancy, quietly waiting with Sherlock for her doctor to enter. They were going to find out the sex of the baby today. They had decided a few weeks ago not to get their hopes up for a specific sex, but that didn't mean that John couldn't convince Sherlock to place bets about their speculations. Irene was amused to see Sherlock genuinely invested in their unborn child. She and Mary had even began gossiping about how much more Sherlock was talking about the pregnancy now that he'd come to terms with it.

Just as Sherlock was starting to get impatient, a short, pale woman with too many freckles entered the room and spoke. "You must be mom and dad, I'm Dr. West." American apparently.

"We were expecting Dr. Moon. Is she not in today?" Sherlock asked anxiously.

Dr. West switched her gaze from Irene to Sherlock as he spoke and said, "I'm afraid not, she had to leave early for personal reasons." She waited for Irene to appear satisfied with her response and continued. "So you're in for your first ultrasound today, are you excited to find out the sex? Any expectations?"

Irene smiled and said "Well, we've been trying not to get our hopes up. We just don't want to be disappointed."

"I see, very smart. You guys ready?" Irene nodded. "Alright, sweetie, lie down and lift your shirt up. This stuff is cold so don't say I didn't warn you." She squirted the cold gel onto Irene's growing abdomen and chuckled when she cringed.

Sherlock observed Irene and all of her reactions, especially the unnoticeable ones, as the doctor pointed out various body parts on the monitor. He could tell from the gleam in her eyes that she was starting to get sentimental.

"And right here between those tiny legs is-get excited!-a beautiful girl! Congratulations, mom and dad, now you have to start thinkin' of a name."

Irene eyed Sherlock for a moment and noticed that there was a grin on his face while he stared at the monitor. "Sherlock, it's nothing to get sentimental about, get it together!" Irene joked.

Sherlock shot a glare at Irene, apparently caught off guard, and retorted with "Miss Adler, you of all people should know that I don't get sentimental. I was merely admiring the combination of our genes and marveling at the fact that we'll be having a prodigy living in our flat with us."

"A prodigy, huh? You plan on living vicariously through your child or something?" remarked the doctor with a large smirk on her face.

"Live vicariously through my child? Are you stupid? I meant that with various traits from us, she'll be a master at anything she does. Really, doctor, don't be so dense. It's very unprofessional."

"Sherlock, don't be rude," Irene reprimanded.

"Oh, don't even worry. I'm American, rudeness is in our blood." Dr. Moon assured. "It doesn't even phase me."

After they left the hospital they decided to stop by a Chinese restaurant to get some takeout for an impromptu picnic at a nearby park.

Once they decided on a large tree to sit under, Sherlock shed his coat so that Irene could sit on it.

As they got settled and comfortable, and unfortunately for Irene it now took her twice as long to find a decent position to sit in-she settled for leaning against Sherlock with his left arm wrapped loosely around the front of her body-she was finally able to sit still long enough without complaining about back pain.

"I have a question regarding this pregnancy," Sherlock mentioned as he handed her a set of chopsticks from their takeout bag.

"Go on."

"When you first told me that you were pregnant, how did you find out about it? What made you consider the possibility?"

"My breasts were getting tender. It was abnormal for me so I did a bit of research and the only plausible possibility for it was pregnancy. Of course I had to be sure, so I bought a test to check."

"And how soon after you took the test did you tell me about it?"

"I'm assuming you don't remember correctly the day that I told you, I found out hours before then. I took the test in the middle of the night while you were asleep. "

Sherlock pondered that information for a moment before asking "Why did you do it in the middle of the night?"

"Because I wasn't sure if I was going to tell you about it in the first place." Irene said between bites. "I didn't want to worry you for nothing."

"And if you had decided wholeheartedly on not telling me, what would you have done?"

"Obviously I would have gotten an abortion." she said with food in her mouth. "And then I would have gone back to my normal ways and casually suggested using a condom the next time we had sex."

"So you would have lied."

"For you, Sherlock. I would have done it for you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I would have been considerate for however you might react and I would have just avoided it altogether."

Sherlock was silent for a moment before continuing, "Well, I'm grateful that you decided to tell me instead, as well as choose keep it-her." He looked down, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

"Look at you, being all sentimental." Irene cooed as she patted his left hand which was resting on top of her belly.

"Am not." Sherlock muttered.

"I must say, I rather like it. It suits you well."

"It's a girl. You owe me £50. -SH" 4:39 PM

"Also the crib came today. I need you to come over and help me put it together. -SH" 4:39 PM

"But get here soon. Irene won't be out for too much longer. -SH" 4:40 PM

"By "help you put it together" you mean do it for you as you sit around and watch, correct?" 4:42 PM

"That's exactly what I mean. Come along now. -SH" 4:43 PM

"I'm on my way, hold your horses." 4:46 PM

Lately there was nothing that Sherlock liked more than seeing Irene genuinely pleased about something. When she got home, with Mary in tow, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of Sherlock and John sitting on the living room sofa, admiring the beautiful black crib before them. Somehow John had managed to convince Sherlock to actually help put it together. Sherlock was pleased that it didn't take very long; they'd finished only minutes ago.

"Hello boys," Irene and Mary said cheerfully in unison.

"Hmm," Sherlock and John responded in unison.

"Did Sherlock help at least a little, John?" Irene asked.

"Of course I helped put it together. Would you expect any less of me?"

Irene didn't answer but she did smile wickedly.

"Irene, you still haven't shown me your sonogram," Mary inquired.

"You're right, I haven't. Sherlock, you had it last, what did you do with it?" Irene asked as she and Mary entered the kitchen.

"If you used even a fraction of your observational skill you'd have seen it on the fridge."

Irene rolled her eyes as she pointed to the refrigerator and headed for the cupboard for a couple of glasses. "You thirsty?"

"Only a little," Mary nodded as she moved the magnet off of the sonogram, careful not to scratch the shiny paper. "These are precious. What did the doctor say?"

"Girl," Irene replied once she swallowed her water.

"Oh dear, that will be fun. You two are going to raise a miniature narcissist."

Irene chuckled. "That's exactly what Sherlock says he refuses to raise. Personally, I'd like to see him try. You hungry?"

"My God, Irene, where do you think we just came from?" Mary laughed.

"I can't help it. Since I got pregnant, the only thing constantly on my mind now is food."

"Liar," Sherlock called out from the living room.

"Oh, piss off."

"What's he on about?"

"I keep waking him up for sex every night."

"And he's complaining?"

Suddenly there was nothing but the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. When it subdued, all that Irene could picture was Sherlock turning beet red as he rolled his eyes.

"If you two are done gossiping, would you mind coming out to appreciate what we put so much effort into putting together?" Sherlock requested.

"Sherlock, you hardly put any effort into this." retorted John.

"The point is it's finished and now it needs to be appreciated."

"You're a tit, you know that?"

After John and Mary left, Irene became a stowaway on the sofa for a nap and Sherlock retreated to the spare room that acted as his lab area. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and saw that he had a text from Mycroft from an hour ago.

"Mummy's in town and would like to see you. I have given her your address and she will be there tomorrow at noon. Try not to upset her too much this time. We all remember the Christmas dinner of '01. -MH" 7:42 PM

In that moment sheer frustration shot through him. Sherlock had not seen nor spoken to his mother in almost seven years. What possible reason would she want to see him? And why so suddenly? Had she heard about Irene and her pregnancy? They'd tried so hard to keep it as private as possible. The most limelight they received was a headline on the front page of The Sun with an article about how private a couple they were and that it was unknown how far along Irene was.

Mrs. Holmes wasn't one to concern herself with the senseless trivia and drama that was written in magazines and newspapers, but she did have Mycroft, the only responsible Holmes son, keep tabs on her youngest. Surely she must have heard about it from him. But that just begs the question he kept thinking over and over again: Why would mother want to grace us with her presence when she'd hardly cared enough to visit me in rehab that time? She couldn't even be bothered to go to my funeral after my supposed death...

"Why the sudden intrest in her failure of a son? -SH" 8:51 PM

Sherlock received a reply almost as soon as he'd sent his text. "Mother is interested in what you've been up to for the last seven years. Can you, for one day, pretend to not be such a pompous twat? -MH" 8:52 PM

"I'll see what I can do. -SH" 8:52 PM

After he sent his last text he headed back to the living room to tell Irene about his mother wanting to visit. She'd only laid down no more than ten minutes ago and she was already asleep. He felt a bit guilty that he was waking her up, falling asleep had become so difficult for Irene as of late.

"Irene," he stroked her cheek lightly as he sat on the edge of the sofa, "Irene, wake up. " She stirred for a moment before opening her eyes and glaring at him. "I know you've just fallen asleep but I suppose this is rather important."

"It had better be," she muttered as she turned over on the sofa.

"Mycroft has just informed me that my mother is going to be visiting us."

"Oh?" she yawned, "And when will this be?" Another yawn.

"Tomorrow at noon."

That seemed to pull her out of her drowsey state. "Tomorrow at noon?" she asked as she faced him again. "That's... It's a bit-"

"Inconvenient? Annoying? Unnecessary?" he interrupted. "Mycroft claims that she's interested in my activities over the past seven years, the nosey woman, but I'm positive she's got an ulterior motive."

"Well, is she aware that I'm pregnant? That could be one reason why she'd want to come over."

"I'm not even sure she knows of my affections for you, Irene. I've told you before, she and I haven't spoken in nearly seven years."

"Yes but I assumed that big brother would take care of that."

"We'll just have to wait and see, I guess. For now, would you mind retiring to the bedroom with me? I could give you a back rub to help you fall asleep if you'd like."

"Mr. Holmes, in this moment, there is nothing I want more than to be next to you in that bed."


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

It was 8:21 AM and Irene should have been out of bed by then. She should have been showered and dressed and blow dried. She should have been helping Sherlock clean up the flat in preparation for Mrs. Holmes's visit at noon. But she couldn't bring herself to get out of bed that morning. She'd been awake for much of the night vomiting and trying not to cry. Once she was able to brush her teeth without gagging, Sherlock carried her back to bed and stayed up for an extra half hour just to give her a foot rub with her favorite lotion. But even after she'd fallen asleep, she was being woken up every so often. Sherlock had discovered just days ago that she'd developed sleep apnea. He felt so guilty for waking her up every time. Finally after waking Irene for a fourth time, he'd decided to rearrange all the pillows around her. The long body pillow was wedged underneath her left side, a smaller one was placed between her knees, and the smallest one went right under the base of her neck. This seemed to be the solution.

As time ticked away, Sherlock became more and more uneasy about seeing his mother. He'd just finished straightening up the living when he received a text from Mycroft.

"Mummy has a few errands to take care of. She'll be an hour late. -MH" 9:08 AM

Sherlock didn't reply. He simply went back to putting his home in order and hoping that his dear Miss Adler would be waking up soon. Fortunately she did. When she came out of the bedroom she was wearing a cream coloured blouse that flattered her bust, some simple dark washed, boot cut jeans that hugged her hips beautifully, and a pair of black Louboutin pumps that looked like Hell to walk in. Her long hair was pinned on one side and draped over her shoulder with soft waves. She looked perfectly at ease with everything, even knowing that today's events would not be easy on either of them.

"Oh, good, you're up. I thought about going in to check on you but I didn't want to wake you up if you weren't ready." Sherlock explained as he approached her. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Like absolute Hell... But at least I don't look it," she said with a smirk.

"Is that a shot at me?"

"It is. When were you planning on showering?"

"As soon as everything was clean and-"

"Sherlock, this place is spotless. If there's anything you'd like me to do, I'll do it while you get into the shower. There's plenty of hot water left and there's a new bottle of body wash in the cupboard under the sink. Go now or I'll have to force you back into bed with me. And you know I will. " She kissed him on the lips and pushed him toward the room. As he was about to walk away he felt a quick swat on his backside and flushed a deep pink. Suddenly he turned back around and caught Irene's hand just before she had a chance to escape and pulled her into a hard, wanting kiss and embrace.

If you asked Sherlock Holmes what it was like to wait for his mother to arrive, he'd tell you it was like waiting for the rapture. Annoying and uncomfortable and boring and bothersome... And frankly a bit intimidating.

Sherlock felt that his mother often wore a mask, especially in her own home, to conceal all her worries and and disturbances. He remembered a time when he was quite small, perhaps no older than seven, when he came into the sitting room and saw Mrs. Holmes standing by the window and silently crying. He'd wondered what she saw out there that was worth crying over. It wasn't until she felt a tug at the hem of her skirt that she realized she wasn't alone.

"Why are you crying, mother?" Sherlock had asked in his small, shy voice.

"I thought I told you to go to your room for misbehaving." said Mrs. Holmes with a shaky voice. She quickly wiped her tears and began ushering the small boy out of the large room.

"I just wanted to know what was bothering you. Besides... that room is broken. It doesn't feel right to be in there right now. It's not quite... right."

"Sherlock, you must do what you're told. If you continue this way, always touching your brother's things and not listening when people speak to-Sherlock, quiet hands, remember?" She bent to his level and clasped his hands in hers and peered directly into his eyes. "Quiet hands, please. It's rather distracting to see you wringing your shirt tails or ruffling your hair all the time. Anyways, you must be a good boy for Mummy and go back to your room, which, by the way, is not broken. It's just been rearranged."

"Well I dislike it's new arrangement. It makes me very uncomfortable and it's difficult to be in there without wanting to rip all my hair out." Sherlock protested with a stamp of his foot on the shiny wood floor. The sound echoed throughout the room for a moment. "You should know very well by now that change does not sit well with me."

"I certainly hope that you're not about to have another tantrum. I don't think you want another swat on your bum from Father's belt, do you?"

His face fell and the thought of his father standing before him, broad shoulders and large hands, a belt gripped tight in one, honestly made him cringe. He shook his head a few times before saying, "I've done nothing today that deserves Father's belt on my rear. Honestly, mother, at least pretend that you two don't enjoy punishing me for petty offenses."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Apologize, now." she'd said with a stern voice.

"How can I apologize for speaking the truth? You and Father have always told me that it's unbecoming to tell lies and here you are, telling me to be sorry for being truthful."

"Sherlock Holmes, you apologize to me this instant."

"I cannot be sorry if I've done nothing wrong. I don't get why you can't live with that."

He'd lit a short fuse and hadn't run far enough, because as he'd began his argument, the one person he'd looked forward to seeing the least, was standing in the entryway.

"Are you talking back to your mother, Sherlock?" said his father in a rather loud and deep voice.

There was a beat and a subtle squirm. "Father, I was simply justifying my point. How can she expect me to be sorry if I am not? It makes no sense." Mr. Holmes took two long strides into the room, which caused Sherlock to take two considerably small strides backwards, bumping into the table behind him and nearly knocking down a rather delicate looking, vintage tea set.

"Sherlock, just apologize to me now and avoid any further punishment. And for God's sake, if you bump that sea set one more time-"

"You act as if my intention was to knock it over!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice to your mother. Now, do as she says or you'll be sent to bed with another swat and no dinner."

Sherlock seemed to single out a loose thread on his sleeve as he spoke and began to pull at it. "Do what you want, I guess. Punishing me for no reason will help disguise the fact that there is something bothering Mother. And we all know how you two live for hiding things."

At that point he'd already been pulled out of the room by his arm. His father's grip was like that of a vise. "You can't hide from your problems forever! There's no logic to it!"

Just as Sherlock was coming out of a rather painful memory, one he was sure he'd deleted years ago, he'd heard a car pull up outside.

"That's Mother." he said with an eye roll.

"Go on and meet her by the car. I'll wait here," Irene said with a soft smile as she directed him towards the front door.

As he made his way down stairs he could hear a car door shut and a familiar feminine voice approaching the door.

"Yes, I'm there now... It's rather small... We'll talk later, he's answering the door."

Just as Mrs. Holmes was putting her mobile back into her purse the front door opened. Sherlock feigned a smile and his mother mirrored the expression.

"That was Mycroft, I presume." he said as he waved his hand aside, motioning for her to enter.

"Mhmm," she agreed. "You were thinner the last time I saw you. And paler," she acknowledged.

They spoke as they made their way up the thirteen steps and into the flat. "Yes, but I was also a recovering addict fresh out of rehab," he said as he closed the door behind them. Irene cringed at his words. She'd known about his past but it was different hearing it right from his mouth rather than reading it from a file you weren't supposed to have.

"That's right... Now, what ever happened to that Watson fellow you moved in with right after rehab? I thought for sure that that would work out."

"Mother if you're implying that our relationship was anything more than a platonic friendship then you are sadly mistaken. Anyways, he got married. It would have been quite awkward for me to remain living there."

"I see... Well aren't you going to introduce us? Goodness, Sherlock, your manners haven't improved at all."

He refrained from making a snide remark through gritted teeth that might prove his mother's point. Instead he clasped his hands together and spoke aloud as he headed to the kitchen.

"Irene, my mother. Mother, Irene. Would you like some tea?"

"Don't change the subject," his mother said as she sat in Sherlock's chair. "He was notorious for that when he was a boy."

Irene nodded and tried not to look too tired. Thank God for concealer, she thought.

"So, Irene, what's it like to live with Sherlock? Constant messes and fights? Or has he mellowed out considerably?"

When she opened her mouth to answer, Sherlock came back into the living room with a tea set on a tray and set it on the coffee table in the center of the room before cutting them off. "Forgive me for interrupting, but why are you here?"

"Can't I visit my son for no reason?"

"In my experience, mother, no."

"It was worth a shot. But I genuinely am interested in knowing what you've been doing over the last seven years, as I'm sure Mycroft has already told you."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Sherlock and Irene exchanged glances and Mrs. Holmes sipped her tea, carefully examining her surroundings.

"Plus I've been informed of some very intriguing news recently," she added as she set her cup on it's saucer and back on the table.

"And?" Sherlock asked with expectancy in his eyes.

"That you are to be a father. Is this true?" She switched her gaze to Irene and waited for confirmation. Irene nodded slowly with a soft smile that reached her eyes.

"Yes, it is true. Actually, I've just had my first sonogram a few days ago to determine the sex."

"Have you? What is it? Sherlock used to tell me he'd want to have a daughter back when he was quite small. About six, I think."

Suddenly Sherlock's cheeks were a very deep rosy red and he avoided eye contact with either woman at all costs.

Irene seemed to be pleased at this. "Well he's in luck. It's a girl."

"How delightful. Is it what you were expecting, Irene? Were you hoping for anything in specific?"

"Well, Sherlock and I agreed early on that we wouldn't discuss it or get our hopes up for either outcome that way we wouldn't be disappointed. But I must say," she glanced at Sherlock as he spoke, hoping he wouldn't catch it; he did. "I was secretly leaning towards a girl... As was Sherlock." He glared at her. "He even placed a bet on it. Won it too."

Sherlock was getting uncomfortable. He started tapping his hands on the sides of his thighs. This caught his mother's attention.

"Quiet hands, Sherlock. Goodness, I haven't seen you do that since you were sixteen. I thought you would've been over that by now."

Before Sherlock had a chance to defend himself, Irene intervened, clearly aware of his rising anxiety. "Well I think it's time I refreshed the tea pot. Excuse me." She gathered the tea tray from the table and escaped into the kitchen. There is no way that we're ever going to leave our child alone with that woman if she can't even let her son indulge in a nervous tick in his own home, she thought as she set the tray on the counter.

"This is precisely why I haven't spoken a word to you in seven years," Sherlock said in a hushed voice. "Why you still believe it is mandatory to prevent me from stimming, even in the comfort of my own home, is beyond me, but I will tell you, mother: I am an adult and you can no longer tell me what to do. I am thirty-seven years old and I will stim if I damn well please."

"Whatever you say, Sherlock."

Irene returned with a fresh pot of tea before they were able to continue. She'd heard the entire exchange and gave Sherlock a very subtle knowing glance before she sat down. She wanted so badly to kick her shoes off and tuck her feet up onto the couch.

"Have either of you thought of a name yet?" asked Mrs. Holmes as she glanced at the screen of her mobile, most likely checking for the time.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "We haven't really had the time to think about that yet. We've been busy taking care of our other priorities." Irene's false smile didn't falter at that but she did elbow him in the ribs as she pulled an arm up to feign a stretch.

"Well I hate to break it to you, love, but for the next eighteen years or so, this," Mrs. Holmes pointed a freshly manicured finger at Irene's stomach, "is your biggest priority. The both of them actually. You ought to come up with a steady income as well. I've seen the way you live."

"The way I-There is absolutely nothing wrong with the way we live. Our lifestyle is perfectly adequate. And you've not seen anything. You haven't seen a damn thing in seven years. So if you're referring to my lifestyle choices from before rehab, mother, I certainly hope that you've realized that things have changed. I haven't even got those wretched track marks anymore."

"Sherlock." Irene reprimanded.

"Please, if you're going to say something, think it through first."

"Sherlock."

"I'm sure you remember how that ended with father. Or is that not a pleasant memory to touch on?"

"Sherlock, that is enough!" she finally scolded.

His mother had remained calm and collected and virtually unaffected while Sherlock was barely sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward with his palms pressed flat to the table before him.

"Are you done having a temper tantrum? I could have sworn that you grew out of that phase two decades ago, but clearly you have not." She switched her gaze to Irene. "You've got your work cut out for you. I'm impressed that you agreed to live with him. Surely you must've known what he was like before you got together."

"Excuse me." Sherlock said. He stood from his seat, removed himself from their presence and escaped into his bedroom. The door clicked quietly but to him it was deafening. He paced back and fourth pondering what had just happened. Why did he let her words get to him so easily? Because this is what she does, he thought. She pokes and prods until she can get a rise out of me, and when she does she tries to soften it by further insulting me.

He ran his hands through his hair a few times before he calmed down completely. When his breathing went back to normal he straightened up his clothes and counted to sixty before exiting his room.

When Sherlock returned to the living room, his mother was now in his spot on the sofa and Irene had finally kicked off her heels. They were looking over the sonogram and discussing the horrors of pregnancy.

"I must've put on more than two and half stones when I was pregnant with his brother. It was awful. And the morning sickness, that was bad. I had it the worst with Sherlock, had it the whole time until about a week before I was in labour."

"God, I'm hoping that it will end soon. I'm losing sleep because of it. Not to mention I've developed sleep apnea. It alarms Sherlock. Oh, there's the head. And the back pain is absolutely terrible. I can't even go a night without a hot bath and a heating pad."

"Does he give you back rubs?"

"Mhm, almost every night. It's the only way I can actually attempt to lie down."

Sherlock listened to them converse as he made his way into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He held it to the back of his neck and the chill sent a minor spasm down his spine.

When he returned both his mother and Irene were patting the space on the sofa between them. "Love, come and sit." said his mother. "Come on now. Don't shuffle about... That's better." When he sat, his left knee knocking Irene's right, his mother handed him the sonogram. "Can you identify your baby?"

He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic and had some sort of insulting remark waiting.

"Of course I can." A roll of the eyes.

"Well?"

"There. That weird spot there."

"That's your baby? Which part is it?"

Why was she bothering him with these pointless questions?

"The head."

Irene had to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"What? What's your problem?"

"Are you sure that's her head?"

"I'm positive."

"Okay... then what is this?"

"That's... wait."

Irene and Mrs. Holmes exchanged amused glances behind Sherlock's back as he placed the sonogram on the coffee table and leaned closer to examine it.

"We're waiting." said his mother in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, hush up... No... No, I'm positive. That's... Hmm... No, that's definitely the head."

More stifled laughter.

"Love, that's her bum."

"Are you sure?"

"Sherlock, were you even paying attention at the appointment? The doctor pointed everything out to us. Several times I might add."

"Don't worry, Sherlock. If it makes you feel any better, your father thought Mycroft was going to be a girl after he saw the sonogram."

It was Sherlock's turn to keep himself composed.

"He was convinced I was lying to him right up until he had to cut the umbilical cord."

They remained in the living room for the rest of the visit, discussing various events from the last seven years, including some of Sherlock's activities during his three year leave. He was careful not to mention certain crimes he'd committed while he was away, though he was sure she'd be filled in on that information later by Mycroft.

Irene became the mediator between mother and son for much of the visit, constantly reminding Sherlock to keep his head and not become frustrated at everything his mother told him. Eventually his mother apologized for various things she'd said, done, and caused in the past. This included his multiple downfalls into drug addiction and failed attempts at rehabilitation. She was also sorry for being so demanding and neglectful.

It took a while but even Sherlock relented; he was sorry for making her life so difficult and stressful. "It must not have been terribly easy to raise a child like me, especially without the proper knowledge of my diagnosis and how to handle it."

"Yes, you and your tantrums."

Irene was almost shocked at his mother. Almost. But after spending the day with her she felt she'd had just a small glimpse of what it was like to live in the Holmes household.

My poor Mr. Holmes, she thought.

"It's not as if I deliberately made your life Hell." Was she trying to guilt him for something that was beyond his control? Was she that heartless?

It took much effort but finally they reconciled their differences. They both decided that whatever was in the past would be ignored. If it was too terribly negative to think about, it would be deleted. It wasn't worth looking back on anymore.

Soon they moved back onto the topic of the unborn Adler/Holmes baby. Every now and then a name would be tossed around, played with, and then rejected for not being good enough for an Adler or a Holmes.

Any and all names, middle included, were contemplated until early evening.

As Mrs. Holmes readied herself to leave she sent out a text, probably to the driver of the black car she'd arrived in.

"Sherlock," she said as they went down the steps to the front door. "I hope you won't choose to shut me out of your life again once your child is born."

He rolled his eyes and responded "You needn't worry about that, mother."

"I should hope not." The car was parking just as they came out to the sidewalk. "I'll be seeing you."

Before they drove off she rolled down her window and motioned for Sherlock to come closer. "By the way, once she's born," she said, "you should expect to see your father."

Sherlock grimaced.

"We'll come around for dinner." And then they left.


	6. Chapter 6

Domestic Ch. 6

For Irene, being six months and one week pregnant had it's ups and downs. An up that she favored quite a lot was the lack of morning sickness for the last two weeks. She'd eaten a couple of oatmeal cookies that she'd coaxed Sherlock into baking-it was very easy for her to get her way with him as she knows exactly what he likes-and she'd expected it to take not more than ten minutes to come back up. When they didn't she was pleasantly surprised.

A down was that she was experiencing her wide range of emotions come out to play much more often that she would have liked. In fact, two weeks after the visit with Sherlock's mother, Sherlock brought up their child's lack of a name thus far and that they should have decided on one ages ago, and Irene became frustrated at him for apparently pressing on and on about the subject and that they would get to it soon enough.

Unfortunately this evening Irene was displaying particularly negative reactions to almost everything Sherlock said or did. She'd told him early on in the day that she was in no mood to interact with him and so he left her alone for a good part of the day. He'd even left the flat for an hour to vent to John about what it's like living with a pregnant woman. When he returned he received several dirty looks, two insults and one complaint about the flat's lack of ice cream. When he offered to go get some for her, she glared at him and said under her breath, "I am not helpless, you know. I can bloody do things on my own too..." That seemed to be the last straw.

It took about a minute for Sherlock to react. If Irene hadn't been paying attention before, she definitely was now. Sherlock stood from his seat in the kitchen and backhanded a glass of water off of the table and Irene watched as it shattered against the wall.

"That was a bit unnecessary, don't you think?" said Irene with a roll of her eyes.

"Irene, I have been nothing but accommodating to you throughout this pregnancy. I have held my tongue at all of your remarks and insults. And I have lost a considerable amount of sleep just to please you." He ran his hands through his hair as he processed what he would say next. "I have even allowed you to put off our top priority of choosing a name for our child, which should have been done ages ago, I might add, all because I pester you too much about it."

"Well you do-"

"I haven't finished," he said in a sharp tone. "Really Irene, it would be unwise to interrupt right now. Do you know what it's like for me to put things off? Especially something as important as picking out a name for our future child. It is stressful! It causes me a great deal of anxiety and you know I don't work well with anxiety. And your terrible mood swings have become so bad that I find that the only way to take the edge off is to smoke."

Her face fell. "You what?"

"Yes, every time I leave the flat, and especially when I'm with John. In fact, I've been smoking for the past three and a half months." He watched as Irene composed herself and tried not to care. She was unsuccessful. "You know, you haven't the slightest clue what it's like to live with you. You're selfish and uncaring and uptight and you don't take into consideration how all these factors affect everyone around you. John and Mary have noticed and they only see the tip of the iceberg. I've had it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I am done standing by and letting you get away with all this verbal abuse and mistreatment." He shoved the chair aside and walked out of the kitchen without so much as a glance towards the woman with fresh tears marking her cheeks.

There was a soft sound behind him and he couldn't tell if it was a held in sob or an attempt to say something. He didn't wait to figure it out, instead he locked himself in his makeshift lab.

As soon as Sherlock sat at his desk he pulled his mobile from his pocket and sent out a text.

"When mother was pregnant with me, was she absolutely horrid to be around? -SH" 5:49 PM

"Mummy was tolerable until her final trimester. Then she became a weeping mess. Is Irene too troubling to be around? -MH" 5:52 PM

"Her mood swings are becoming impossible to deal with. -SH" 5:53 PM

"Dear brother, tell me you didn't lose your temper and shout at her. -MH" 5:54 PM

Getting a bit sarcastic there, Mycroft, Sherlock thought.

"She's too stubborn and full of herself. I'm the constant target of her verbal abuse. -SH" 5:56 PM

"Remind you of anyone, Sherlock? -MH" 5:59 PM

After Sherlock's outburst, he and Irene didn't speak to each other for an entire week. It wasn't particularly difficult for either of them until the last two days. The silence between them had become deafening and uncomfortable.

Irene was the first person to break the silence.

She woke up in the middle of the night because of a strange feeling she had. At first she didn't want to say anything to him, she was sure the feeling would go away. When it did she was relieved. But she couldn't fall back asleep. There was something just too odd about that feeling. After about an hour of pondering it over and over, she was finally starting to doze off again when suddenly the feeling came back. It was sudden and made her jump. Then she felt it again. And again and again.

"Sherlock," she whispered as she put a light hand on his back. It happened again. "Mmph, Sherlock, wake up."

As he rolled over Irene sat up. "What is it?" he finally said.

She looked at her stomach and then at him. "I'm not sure..." Again. "But I'm having this really odd feeling right now." Again. "It's every few-" Again. "Seconds. I can't tell what it is but-" again, "it feels really weird and I don't know if I should be worrying right now." Again.

Sherlock sat up and placed a hand on her stomach. After waiting for twenty seconds for something to happen he said, "I don't feel anything. What exactly does it feel-" Again.

"That was it. Feels weirder inside. It's like she's-Oh!"

"How strange..."

"It doesn't hurt though. It's just a sudden movement every few seconds and it's so odd." Again. "Sherlock, I think she's hiccuping."

Sherlock's nose scrunched just slightly. "Can they do that in the womb?"

Irene shrugged. "Turn on that light. Maybe we can see her move."

"What are you doing?" he asked as she grabbed her mobile from the nightstand.

"I have to look this up. What if it's something worse than hiccups and I don't do anything about it? Besides, I won't be able to sleep until I have a proper answer anyway."

"I guess you're right." Again.

"That one was a bit different." she said as Sherlock moved his hand back and fourth on her stomach. "Almost like she's dancing."

"Hiccuping and dancing? Really, Irene?"

"Honestly, Sherlock, I don't know what to think. Ah, here. 'Fetal hiccuping is a normal phenomenon that's been felt by many pregnant women and has been observed on many an ultrasound. Your baby may have started hiccuping intermittently beginning in the late first or early second trimester, although you wouldn't have been able to feel the hiccups at that early stage.' How strange! And all the responses to this are of other women who've experienced it."

"Do you suppose she might have just turned over? Re-positioned herself?" he suggested.

"That sounds likely."

"Is it good enough that you'll go back to sleep now?"

"I guess... Seems like she's stopped for now."

Once Irene re-positioned her pillows and finally found a comfortable position that didn't make her feel like someone was sitting on her chest, Sherlock snaked his arms around her. He wriggled closer to her side under the sheets and set a hand on her stomach before leaving a few soft kisses trailing from her temple to her cheek.

It wasn't more than five minutes before Sherlock heard soft snoring coming from Irene.

They were getting closer and closer to the due date. Things were finally coming together. They'd even finished buying things for the baby, save for random outfits or onsies they came across every time they shopped. Early on in the pregnancy, Irene and Mary had made a list of things she would need to buy by the time the baby was born. The list included hypoallergenic shampoos and sunscreen, pacifiers and bottles, bedding for the crib, a newborn's bathtub, and many other things.

Irene and Sherlock seemed to have everything that the baby would possibly need. Except for a name. It had been three weeks since Sherlock even brought up the subject for fear of triggering another mood swing.

He thought better of it though. He knew he wouldn't be able to focus on a case completely until they took care of this task. _I might as well bring it up tonight or it won't get done at all, _he thought.

"We need to make a decision," said Sherlock as he sat next to Irene on the sofa.

Irene flinched as if she'd been somewhere else for the past few silent minutes. "A decision?"

"Yes, on a name. And I will not hush up about it this time. We can't keep putting it off or else it will never get done."

"I know..." She swung her legs up so that they rested on top of Sherlock's lap. "It's just that she's going to have to live with it. What if we both choose a name that we like and neither one of us can agree?"

"Well, no matter what we come up with it has to be soon. We only have two more months to think about it. Besides, if she's truly unhappy with it when she's older, she can always have it legally changed."

"Have you got any ideas?" Sherlock shook his head and waited for her to speak again. "I'm just going to take a shot in the dark here... Lynn?"

Sherlock grimaced. "Too plain."

"Mm, what have you got then?"

"Chandra."

"That's awful. Scarlet."

"Too pretentious. She'll be a narcissist for sure. Noelle."

"Too old fashioned. She'll be made fun of for sure. Aspen."

"It's an improvement. We'll come back to it... Amelia?"

Irene's nose crinkled and she let out a little laugh.

"What? What is it?"

"It's not that I don't like it... It's just that when I think of 'Amelia', I instantly picture Amelia Pond from Doctor Who. And she wasn't exactly my favorite companion, so..."

"Come up with something quick then."

"Emily."

"Can I blacklist a name?"

"Sherlock, you are impossible. And you're one to talk, Mr. Holmes. You haven't got a very conventional name yourself. Tell me, what on Earth was your mother thinking?" Her tone was teasing and Sherlock actually slipped a sliver of a smile.

"Actually, her first choice was Sherinford... While I'm not particularly thrilled with what she chose in the end, I must say I'm thankful my father intervened... We're getting off subject."

"It was your turn."

"Camilla."

"Blacklisted."

"Rude."

"Caroline."

"Blacklisted... Carla."

Irene shifted in her seat and accidentally dug a heel into Sherlock's thigh, which caused him to kick the coffee table. It would have been fine if he were wearing shoes. And he didn't believe her when she said it was an accident.

"If you're done trying to maim me, I'd like to get back to picking a name. Opinion on Carla?"

"I told you it was unintentional. I don't exactly like the name but I feel like it's got what I want."

"Do elaborate."

"I like the amount of letters, and I like that it starts with 'C'. Hmm..."

Sherlock pondered that for a moment while Irene tried to come up with another choice.

They sat in silence for almost ten minutes until Irene brought them back to the surface.

"I've got one."

"It was my turn."

"Well hurry up and say it, but I think mine will be better."

"Calli."

"Blacklisted."

"Give it a chance at least," Sherlock chuckled.

"Can't. Mine is better."

"In what way?"

Sherlock noticed Irene run a hand over her stomach, but he didn't notice when she gave a quick smile. It was only for half a second and it did reach her eyes.

"Clara." Irene waited for Sherlock to respond but when he didn't she figured he must still be mulling it over.

He was about to respond when suddenly Irene's heel was digging into his thigh again. "Really, Irene, I'm beginning to believe it is-" When he saw her rigid form and contorted face he fell silent.

"Just shut up for a minute, will you?" she said as she doubled over with a hand on the side of her belly. Sherlock wasn't sure what was happening but he did keep his calm. In the blink of an eye he was off the sofa and helping Irene stand up.

"It's okay, Sherlock, but if you could bring me some water that would be great."

Whatever was ailing her seemed to have passed.

"Am I right to be concerned or was that a false alarm?" he asked as he went into the kitchen.

Irene could hear when he stubbed his toe on a chair and cursed under his breath.

"False alarm," she said while trying to hold in a laugh. "It was just a contraction."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said as he poked his head around the corner, "but I'm fairly certain that contractions are not a false alarm. In fact, they are usually the real deal."

Irene waited until he returned to the sofa with her water. "It was a Braxton Hicks contraction."

"Which is?"

"Basically, they're contractions that will help prepare my body for the real ones and for labor. Women typically begin to have them sometime after their twentieth week or so."

"Do they hurt?" Sherlock seemed genuinely concerned.

"Well, it's different for every woman, but most say they do but not always."

"Was it painful? And was that your first one?"

"Only slightly. It was more of a tightening feeling deep inside, very uncomfortable. And no, actually, I started getting them about a week ago."

"How come you didn't say anything?"

"Because it was too minor. I didn't want to worry you if I didn't need to."

"Irene, if I remember correctly, we _did_ agree to go through this pregnancy _together_."

"I am not going to get into this with you because we're just going to end up arguing and I really don't want you to sleep on the sofa tonight."

"Why would I sleep on the sofa?"

_Because I know you'll end up saying something that I won't like. _"Can we just get back to naming our child? Now? Unless you insist on doing something else?"

"Such as?"

"Such as me getting my riding crop and using it on you until you agree on the name I've chosen."

"Don't I get a say in the matter?"

"Sherlock, if going in circles about this is your idea of a joke, then you really need an improvement on your sense of humor because it is driving me mad."

Sherlock feigned a small frown until he was certain he could feel Irene's stare seering into his flesh.

"So... Clara?"

Irene gave a sigh of relief and settled back into her spot on the sofa, replacing her legs back on his lap.

"What do you think? And you better not blacklist it!"

"Actually, I think it rather suits her. She's two halves of us, which is difficult to capture; it's unique, which she will be because she'll be ours. It's not too terribly pretentious but not old fashioned either, not to mention it's not worth being made fun of over... Honestly, it's a bit posh." Irene shot him a toothy grin and he reciprocated. "I suppose there isn't any other option."

"As I said before, you are impossible."

"Something has just occurred to me."

_Are you suggesting you let something slip past you in the first place, _Irene thought. "Go on."

"We haven't decided how her name will be written on her birth certificate..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, will she be an Adler or a Holmes? Or both?"

"I don't like the way the name sounds with either one..."

"Perhaps we hyphenate both our names?"

"Adler-Holmes?"

"Clara Adler-Holmes."

They both sat in thoughtful silence for the next ten minutes.

"Sounds very posh... It's perfect." Irene finally agreed. "And you know what? I'm going to give you the responsibility of choosing the middle name."

Sherlock looked a bit confused. _I better not regret this, _she thought.

"On my own? Don't you want a say in the matter?"

"I'll add that I have the right to blacklist any name if it calls for it. So pick wisely!"

"If I'm to do this on my own I'll need at least a few days."

"Suit yourself."

_She's going to regret this, _thought Sherlock.


	7. Chapter 7

Domestic Ch. 7

There were only six short weeks until Irene would be have to be in the delivery room. She seemed to be ready to deliver already. When she looked at her nude self in the mirror every morning before her shower, her eyes would pass over her stomach faster than any other body part. She was beginning to feel quite insecure about her appearance. She no longer felt comfortable wearing skimpy clothing even in bed. Even Sherlock had noticed when she stopped removing her pants whenever she was in the privacy of their bedroom. She wouldn't even change her clothes in front of him anymore.

With the due date near in their future, Sherlock was also stressing about the pregnancy. Mainly for economic reasons, although he had been reassured by his mother that Mycroft would take care of it. That wasn't it though. For the past few days he was starting to have a very bad feeling about things. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there regardless. It was there until he realized why.

On one particularly cold November night, with thick fog and loud thunder, Irene and Sherlock lay together in bed. Irene was asleep with her limbs sprawled about, legs overlapping Sherlock's, one arm hung loosely over the edge of the bed. Sherlock couldn't sleep so he let his right hand wander until it found Irene's hair splayed over her pillow.

He'd been thinking about his unborn child non-stop since he'd woken up that morning. Now that he was in bed and Irene was asleep he could have time to analyze what might be bothering him. As he wandered off to his mind palace he began recalling the baby's movements. Just a few short weeks ago she began doing flips as well as hiccuping. Irene would mention every time she felt some sort of kick or cough inside her belly. That's why Sherlock found it odd when she stopped bringing it up almost a week ago. When he asked her about it she simply said that she would tell him about it if there were movements to tell about.

Just then, Irene began to stir. Sherlock continued playing with her hair in hopes that she would stay asleep. No such luck. Instead she sat straight up in bed with a loud gasp and a hand planted firmly on her belly.

"What is it?"

She shook her head and waved him off. She was obviously in pain. But from what? It couldn't be a Braxton Hicks contraction, she said those were hardly painful. So then what could it be?

Irene continued to hold herself and her breathing became quite labored.

"Irene, you need to tell me what's wrong." Sherlock said calmly, hoping his demeanor would help keep her calm as well. He set a light hand on her back and waited for her to respond. She let out a few pained huffs and gasps but did not say anything. Sherlock felt helpless and so he asked the only thing he could think of. "Is it premature labor?"

Irene only glanced at him for a moment but he was sure that even in the dark of the night he could see a few tears glistening on her cheeks.

"You're going to have to give me some sort of indication if I'm correct or not, please." While he waited he felt around the bed clothes to make sure they weren't wet. While he was thankful that they weren't, that only brought on a new wave of concern.

Obvious pain but no foreign liquid on the sheets so it's not early labor; could be cramping but from what? Miscarriage? No-it stops being called a miscarriage after twenty weeks. Stillbirth then? But why?

"Irene, I have to take you to the hospital."

"No!" she managed to utter in the same breath as an "Oh, God!"

"I am not asking for your permission!" She flinched at the sudden raise in his voice and then cringed. She seemed to be building up a lot of tension as her whole body looked tight and rigid. "Irene," Sherlock said in a softer voice, trying to move the hair from her face. She slapped his hand away. "Irene, you need to not fold in on yourself like that." She wouldn't budge. "Irene, please, you're going to hurt the baby."

Irene took in a ragged breath and tried the best she could to loosen up. She wiped her tears away but did not stop crying.

"Irene, I'm going to go outside and get a cab. Will you be alright by yourself for two minutes?"

"You can't go outside in nothing but your pants," she managed to say.

In less than twenty seconds Sherlock had put on his trousers and shirt from earlier, slipped on his shoes, and was out the door. For a small moment he thought luck might be on his side because somehow he managed to get the attention of not one but two cab drivers almost as soon as he was on the sidewalk. He chose the one headed in the right direction.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked with a thick Indian accent.

"St. Bart's. Wait here." When he went back inside Irene was barely coming out of their bedroom, now in yoga pants and a jumper. Sherlock grabbed his long coat from the back of the sofa and draped it over her shoulders and as carefully as he could, quickly ushered her down the stairs and out of the flat.

"All set then?" asked the driver as soon as Sherlock and Irene settled in the backseat.

"We'd appreciate it if you could get us to our destination quickly, please." Sherlock said in a rush.

Once they were in motion Sherlock turned to Irene and leaned close to her to speak in her ear. "Irene, these cramps are not the result of an intense Braxton Hicks contraction, nor are they indicating an early labour."

"I know," was all she said. They were silent for the rest of the ride to Bart's. The only thing Sherlock could think to do was wrap his arms around her and hold her close. He didn't even mind that her tears were all over his shirt collar and neck.


	8. Chapter 8

Domestic Ch. 8

When Sherlock woke up the next morning he was met with a still half-asleep, smiling Irene. She reached her hand out and stroked his cheek lightly. Sherlock was absolutely puzzled. _Why on earth was she smiling at a time like this? Why didn't she seem worried or sad? Was she hiding her pain? But she would never hide it with a smile._

The look on Irene's face went from calm and content to confused and concerned; Sherlock didn't realize that he was grimacing.

"Sherlock, what is it?" He didn't respond. He just stared at her, his grimace deepening. "What's happ-"

"How are you feeling?" His question was sudden and caught her off guard.

"Fine once you tell me what's wrong."

"Are you feeling any pain?" He was sitting up now and pulled down the blanket to look at Irene's body. Her breathing was normal. She just lay there stroking her belly. "Cramps? Nausea? Fatigue? Are you feeling feverish?"

"What are you on about? Honestly, Sherlock, I'm quite alright. I haven't experienced any nausea in a few weeks and of course I am fatigued. I'm always fatigued. What is this all about?"

"And when was the last time you had a contraction?"

"I literally just woke up because of one about five minutes before you woke up and started interrogating me. What is going on?"

"It's just that I-" he paused for a long moment. Irene eyed him suspiciously until he resumed. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"It's fine. Just drop it. I was mistaken." Irene relished the days that Sherlock could admit he was wrong about something. "Just... Are you hungry? I should make you something to eat."

"I'll see your poor attempt at changing the subject and raise you a look of concern. And yes, I am." There was a moment of silence and then Irene sat up and kissed him on the cheek.

_She's not going to let this go,_ thought Sherlock.

At around mid afternoon there was a knock on the door. It was the landlord with a box under his arm. "There's a package here for you; pretty heavy. The postman dropped it off over an hour ago. Had to sign for it because you never came down after I called you. Don't you pay any attention to the buzzer?"

Sherlock scowled at his annoying landlord and said "Yes, we heard the bloody buzzer and your calls. It's what woke Irene from her nap. Now I have to pay. I'll have the package now if you don't mind."

When he reached for it the landlord held it back and added, "When _is_ that baby coming, anyway? Seems like the lass's been pregnant for forever!"

"Actually it's only a matter of time, six weeks, give or take." And with that he snatched the package out of the landlord's hands and shut the door. Just as quick as he closed it, it was open again and Sherlock said quickly, "And keep it down, will you? There's no point in Irene being on bed rest if she's just going to be woken up by constant buzzers and a new lay every other night. And I'd get that checked out if I were you."

"Get what-"

"You know." Sherlock smirked and then the door was closed again.

When Sherlock entered the living room he was met with a very groggy looking Irene Adler sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket.

"What's that?" she asked as Sherlock came to sit by her.

It was a care package from his mother. Inside was a receiving blanket, two glass bottles, a pair of blue booties, and a few dated blue footed pajamas. Everything looked to be at least thirty years old.

"Why did your mother send this to us?" Irene asked as she rifled through the box.

"Don't know. Mother does strange things sometimes."

"There's a note in here, it's addressed to you."

"Let me see."

_"Everything in this box was yours when you were a baby. I've kept it this long in hopes that someday you might give me a grandchild. Now that my wishes have been granted, I'm giving these things to you in case you'd want them for your own child. Hope you don't mind blue. It is just a color after all. Do with it what you will."_

After reading the note he picked up the receiving blanket and he could have sworn there was a faint scent of peppermint to it, which incidentally reminded him of his early childhood.

He hoped that Irene didn't notice the nostalgic wave pass over him.

"I'll go and put these in the room. Make sure to thank your mum for this," she said as she pushed herself up from the sofa.

"I'll take it." said Sherlock as he picked up the box before Irene could reach for it. "You're supposed to be in bed, remember?" She eyed him wearily then stuck her tongue out at him. "Go."

When she turned to leave the living room she felt a quick swat on her backside. This wasn't new but it didn't happen often enough for her to be used to it.

After about an hour of lying next to a once again sleeping (and snoring) Irene, Sherlock was becoming restless. He was still in his clothes and it was barely going to be half past six in the evening. He climbed out of bed as carefully as he could-Irene was a light sleeper lately-and left the room silently. He didn't know what to do with himself so he went into one of the spare rooms they had designated as the nursery.

The only obvious detail that indicated the room was the nusery was the crib. Aside from that it was a disaster. There were boxes all over the place as well as laundry baskets full of tiny clothing. With only six weeks until the due date, things were only getting more stressful. Their deadline seemed even closer now that only one person would be doing most of the work around the place until then, considering Irene was now on bed rest.

Sherlock figured that while she was asleep he might have the chance to set up the baby's room the way they'd talked about a few weeks ago after a doctor's appointment.

He started with the clothing. All the clothes that had already been washed with hypoallergenic detergent were folded and put into drawers and hung in the closet. Those that had not been washed, A.K.A. the outfits that Irene deemed absolutely awful, were thrown into the hamper, most likely only to be noticed once they were outgrown.

_And they _will_ be outgrown... Why on earth would I dream of that? _


End file.
